


a not-too-terrible thing

by theboykingofhell



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:44:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboykingofhell/pseuds/theboykingofhell
Summary: It wasn't the worst thing he's ever done...





	a not-too-terrible thing

Show Pony liked being needed, he guessed.

It was a bad habit. An addiction, really. God, there was just something about the broken, the way their past left a mark on them, one you could smell in the air emanating deep within them like something had rotted up and died inside them. Honestly, it drew him wild, it was like some crazy fucked up aphrodisiac that made him feel sick and sane all at once, mind and body in delirious, intoxicated harmony.

So, it was wrong for him to sniff those kind of people out, he knew. He never claimed to be a good person, though. Sometimes, he just had an itch, an  _urge_ , and who was there to judge him for it? Hadn’t he earned himself a good time or two? He was a killjoy, after all. This was the life he deserved.

He’d picked one of the sketchiest bars that night to frequent. The dirty kind with air so heavy with body odor and decay that stepping inside was a smack in the face when the smell hit you. You could feel diseases catching onto the cells on your skin just by entering the place, and he  _loved_  that filthy, dirty feeling, how foul and perverse the atmosphere was. The place was crammed, not an inch existing between people’s sweating, grinding bodies, and the walls were practically  _dripping_  with the lust collecting in the space between the mob and the brightly lit ceiling above them.

Show Pony slipped and slid his way towards the counter. He loved skating, but sometimes it’d leave a bad taste in his mouth, the wind nipping at his lips and dragging over his tongue like a lover with a fever, leaving his chapped skin stinging with little bites. Besides, hanging by the bar was the fastest way to hook someone in. All it took was some lash flutters and a wink or two and he could get any drink on the menu. Sometimes, even all of them. It was a gamble, really, and one of his favorite games to play.

The only seat left empty was one by the corner, already occupied by a man (huge, by the looks of him) who’d crammed himself against the wall, hunching over his glass. Interest piqued, Pony glided his way over and popped himself into the stool besides him, then faced him with his elbow perched on the counter and his chin resting on his hand, waiting for the man to notice him.

He didn’t, though. Not for the longest time. Not that Show Pony minded, because he took the time he was wasting on him to scope him out, eyes searching him up and down, following the ripples of muscles practically bulging from his worn down clothes and imagining what his body would look like without.

Eventually, though, he got bored, and with an impatient tut, he placed his helmet on the counter and swiveled away from him to find someone else. And, of course,  _that’s_  when he heard a gruff grunt start off somewhere behind him not even a second later, as if an engine had suddenly been switched on and was warming itself up to work.

“Huh. So they haven’t got to you, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, slowly turning to stare. The man only looked back, his expression completely unreadable. He wanted to say there were sparks, magnificently colored sparks that instantly flew between them in a gorgeously dramatic show of sexual chemistry. Really, though, the moment was mostly filled with just a distracted confusion as he watched the man sigh and gesture at a helmet he had tucked into his lap, previously hidden away from all view from the way he had crouched over it.

“… Uh huh.” Pony nodded.

The man smiled, then, and that there was the gloriously bright beams he’d been expecting. It was like he’d spent his whole life in the dark, and suddenly, lord in heaven, there was the sun paving the way to freedom. He couldn’t help but smile right back at him.

Four hours passed by in a wild rush and left him with only three things to gather from it.

One: the man (Jet Star, he quickly learned about a minute before he’d leaned in to kiss his whisky-wet lips first) was broke as broken could be. That was obvious from the first word that came out of his mouth, and the babbling stream that continued on well after they got friendly.

Two: the man  _loathed_  his wife. And loved her. And missed her desperately. And occasionally mumbled laments about her between pants, whispering little details as if the bathroom stalls were a confessional and Show Pony was the priest absolving him of his past sins. Or worse, as if he were staring into a picture frame, with Pony’s pretty likeness reflected in his blushing bride’s wedding dress.

(It wasn’t like he was going to argue against the flattery, and besides. There was something endearing about being seen as someone so beautiful it was haunting, and damaging, and powerful enough to yank the buried wrecks of a person up to the surface until they couldn’t do a thing to ignore it lest stop touching you the way they knew they couldn’t. That’s what he told himself, anyway.)

And, last but not least.. number three. For all that was wrong in that man’s life, God or Mama or the Witch herself, or some other all-powerful, heavenly force, had bestowed him with something  _right_ , a gift to set the balance of the entire cosmos back into order. And if he were being blasphemous for believing in miracles and magic all at the same time, all gathered in that man’s fingers and strong hands (and, not to mention, what was hidden under his zipper), then he accepted that sacrilege into his blood without a second thought.

Now, it wasn’t love, because that was something he knew didn’t exist outside of the Doctor’s arms (romance had died with the rest of his friends in that raid), but it was definitely something special. At the very least, it was close enough, and  _more_  than enough to encourage him to nod and smile when Jet asked to see him again, nerves all tightened up and tense as his gentle giant eyes shifted towards the door. Really, that was all  _he_  needed, so it couldn’t have been  _too_  bad.

Besides. It’d be crueler to leave the poor guy on his own, all on his lonesome in the big, unforgiving desert. And Show Pony had always been a symbol of ‘charity’. Who was he to do anything  _but_  help him?

It was as good a justification as anything else. After all… he’s done a lot worse for a lot less. 

**Author's Note:**

> How I like to think these two met. I RP Show Pony at: sugarsweetshow.tumblr.com, show us some love~


End file.
